


something safe

by palinopsia



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Honestly like, Light Angst, M/M, Old Married Couple, Post-Endgame, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and disgustingly sweet, eder teylecg is Not a heterosexual, im not sorry, its embarrassingly cheesy, its so gay, theyve been practically gay married and living together for 10-15 years at this point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 17:04:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14898510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palinopsia/pseuds/palinopsia
Summary: Of course, he knows that’s not why he's been having nightmares lately. No, the real reason is somehow much more complicated, and yet much more simple, than just the weather.





	something safe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haonqq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haonqq/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! 
> 
> listen i would die for these boys and im. thank u for letting me write about them i cried while writing this like 78293862 times  
> completely unbetad!! all mistakes are mine!!! i hope!! u enjoy it!!!! 
> 
> title is taken from the song "something safe" by corbin
> 
>  
> 
> also uh edér in this fic has like shoulder length hair and u cant change my mind

He’s walking through an empty field.

He can swear he feels the crops against his legs; knee-high and familiar and golden. But they're not there.

It's too loud, the dead stalks beneath his feet sinking further into the earth with each step, the sound of his own breathing, the beating of his heart ringing in his ears. His armor is too heavy. His throat feels like sandpaper.

He can see Gilded Vale, off to the horizon. It seems so small from here. He has to shield his eyes from the mid-day sun to be able to make it out. It feels like the sun never sets here, wherever _here_ is.

But he remembers this field. Like a faint tingling at the back of his mind, there’s something familiar about it all. Then, all at once, the memories come back rushing, too eager yet blurry, shifting, changing. Like they can't decide which version is best.

What happened to all the crops? It smells like death; overripe and rotting. It's the smell of decay. It's all too familiar, and almost as quickly as they came, the memories settle. The fetor seemingly dissipates with it.

He hears a soft rustling behind him, and immediately recognizes it as the sound of wheat stalks being pushed around. He's about to head to town when he hears it again, this time followed by faint sounds of children's laughter, just behind him. It sounds distant, but not foreign, or out of place.

Then he hears it again, this time a little to the left. When he turns around, there's nothing there.

“Come on!”

He knows that voice. It echoes like ripples on still water. He's speaking before he knows it.

“Wait up! I can't see you!”

His own voice surprises Edér. He sounds young – way too young. He looks down – it's still his body. He's still in his armor.

“Follow my voice!”

So he does. Just like he did the first time.

Just like he did his whole life.

He follows Woden.

He's running through an empty field.

It feels like a lifetime, trying to catch up to him. He's always one step ahead, yet always close. Edér can't see him, but he knows he's not alone.

The laughing stops. Edér can hear the distant sounds of thunder. He looks over his shoulder, trying to see where the storm is. Gilded Vale isn't there anymore. He doesn't recognize this part of the field. How long has he been running?

When he turns around, Woden is there; standing tall among the crops, hair blowing in the wind and just as golden. Edér doesn't need to see his face to recognize him.

Gods. It's been too long.

“Woden!”

He doesnt turn around. Edér jogs up to him, impatient and hesitant, until he's standing right behind him.

Then, as he finally reaches him, he finds himself standing on a cliff.

He can hear waves hitting rocks that aren't there, seagulls flying overhead that cast no shadows, and the torrid and salty ocean air fills his lungs with fire.

The field is gone.

“Woden.”

When he doesn't reply, Edér reaches out, places a hand on his shoulder, and turns him around.

Except it's not Woden.

“Yinro?”

Just as he finishes speaking, though, he feels the ground shake, and suddenly the waves and rocks are very real. The edge of the cliff crumbles beneath Yinro’s feet.

Yinro is falling before Edér’s mind can grasp what's happening.

He reaches out, but he's too late.

“No!” he hears himself shout, but it's distant, like it's someone else speaking. All he can do is watch as Yinro keeps falling.

There's nothing on the horizon. It's just the vast expanse of the ocean, stretching as far as the eye can see.

Yet Edér can't shake the feeling that there's something there. Something terrible, and it feels like it's looking right at him.

The next moment, Eothas’s head is like the dawning sun on the horizon.

There were things Edér had associated with Eothas since he was a kid; feelings, memories, emotions – and some things beyond explanation. Beyond words.

Paralyzing dread wasn't one of them.

But now, as the colossal body of adra rises from the ocean, Edér finds that he can't even move. It's the only thing Edér can think about, his mind turning into static. It's the only thing he can _feel_.

It's overwhelming.

But the adra – it looks different, somehow. The faint glow isn't there, and it feels too still, too _silent_. Shallow. The feeling you get when looking at adra, like you're staring into an endless well that reaches all the way to the center of the earth, is gone. And Eothas, ominous and towering above everything else in his path, looks like a corpse, as much as a god can.

He doesn't speak, but Edér can hear his voice as clear and sharp as cold water, ringing and echoing in his ears.

“Edér, please take care of the Watcher.”

That's when he sees it – Te Aruha. Yinro must be on the ship. Sailing towards Eothas.

Edér wants to shout, scream at him to stop. But he knows there's no way he could hear him. It feels like the ocean stretches into infinity, and Yinro with it.

But he should be on that ship. _He should be on that ship._ He knows, he _feels_ this with every inch of his being.

Because Edér would follow Yinro anywhere, in this life or the next. He would follow him blindly, and without hesitation. And there is nothing that could stop him from being at his side. Being _with_ him.

Every inch of his being.

But before he can say anything, he's being pulled back and turned around, only to find himself face to face with some members of the Night Market.

He recognizes them by their voices, the various Eothas symbols they wear, and the candles they carry. But not their faces. These people are all strangers to him.

He recognizes this room – they used it often for meetings and planning. A headquarters, of sorts. But something doesn't feel right.

It's only then that he realizes how quiet it's gotten. No one is speaking.

He turns around to see where everyone went, only to be met with a horrifying realization  as he sees the bodies lying around – they're dead.

They're all dead.

Something like fear makes its way to his stomach, settling there, and twisting and twisting and _twisting_ until it becomes something else entirely. Something liked guilt.

There's no blood anywhere.

He makes his way to the door, and with a final, lingering look at the bodies, steps outside.

He hears the birds, first.

Then comes the light, then the trees it's passing through. The soft earth feels warm beneath his feet, and the clear spring air entering his lungs spreads like wildfire throughout his body.

He can't shake the feeling that there's something missing.

He's almost breathless, like he's been running, when he hears it.

“We're almost there,” a voice calls from ahead. Older, this time, and perhaps a little less enthusiastic, but unmistakable.

It's like placing the final piece of a puzzle.

Edér remembers that day. He couldn't have been older than thirteen. They'd had to run and hide from one of their neighbors after semi-accidentally unlocking and opening all his pens, and found themselves in the forest.

Edér quickly catches up to him, just in time as they finally reach the river.

Woden jumps in first, clothes and all. He's laughing as he howls in childish joy. Edér knew it would happen – this is one of those memories, the kind that he keeps playing in his head over and over for days on end – but it takes him by surprise, all the same. Just like the first time it happened.

“It's freezing!”

Edér finds himself grinning. There's a terrible knot in his stomach. It feels like it's been there for years. Edér doesn't know what he would do without it.

“What are you waiting for?” Woden shouts.

It's a good question. Always the same one.

Edér shakes his head in amusement, and follows him into the water.

He was right. It's cold.

However, that doesn't stop him from diving underwater, and getting soaked completely. His clothes are gonna take _hours_ to dry, but he can't find it himself to care.

Huh. That's odd. He's wearing his uniform. Since when? He hadn't noticed.

Before he can finish the thought, however, or realize that Woden is wearing _his_ , the ground shakes again, and he almost gets knocked off his feet. He half swims, half walks to the shore, and sees that Woden has done the same on the other side. He doesn't look afraid. Edér realizes he has no idea what that would look like on Woden.

He feels the earth beneath his feet tremble again, then hears a deep and loud rumbling, and suddenly there's a pillar of adra rising in the river, splitting the flow of the water.

Then there's another one. Then another. And another.

And finally, another.

Then it's a hand.

And as it claws its way out of the ground, Edér loses his balance and finds himself lying on the ground, the cold land hard against his back.

When he sits up again, he's in a different place, a different time.

It's a rubble. His first thought is, _something terrible must've happened here._

It's big. Whatever collapsed, it must've been… The destruction… Yet despite the smoke and dust that has yet to settle, and the smell of ash and light, something about it all stirs an air of familiarity in him. He's been here before, he's sure of it. But it's not until he spots the remains of a broken statue that he realizes why.

_It's Caed Nua._ Or what's left of it.

No, but that means– Yinro–

He knows he's there. He has to be. The Steward told him as much. He _has_ to be there. Edér _has_ to find him.

What comes after is a blur, as everything comes rushing back to him. Like a memory that's been played over and over again too many times, lost its shape and structure. One moment Edér is standing over Yinro’s seemingly lifeless body, and the next he's on a ship, then back home with Elafa.

One moment he's staring at a hollowborn child in her arms.

The next, Yinro is in _his_.

Then he’s awake.

He's covered in sweat.

He runs a hand through his hair. He's faintly aware of the sound of his own breathing filling the room, too harsh and too loud, cutting through the soft sounds of rain.

_Rain_. Of course.

Water has been a recurring theme in his dreams, since… since _everything_ , he supposes, that happened in the Deadfire. Edér was _not_ made for sea travel. But rainy weather always makes it worse.

Of course, he knows that’s not why he's been having nightmares lately. No, the real reason is somehow much more complicated, and yet much more simple, than just _the weather_.

He listens to it for some time, the rain, allowing his breathing to return to its regular pace. It's comforting; quiet and steady and familiar. He takes in the room, dark and impossible to make out in detail in his drowsiness. There must be a few hours still before dawn. He catches sight of shadows flickering on the walls, and with the howling wind outside it’s easy to get lost in unpleasant memories. It was a miracle he was able to sleep at all.

He remembers when he was a kid – Edér’s always had nightmares. He can't deny they've steadily gotten worse as he got older, but they were there when he was a kid, too.

They've been getting significantly better the last few years, though. Maybe even a decade. It's just that around this time of the year–

He'd always go to Woden’s bed, when he was little. Sometimes his parents’, but he'd always feel safer with Woden. They'd fight over blankets, then he'd hug him closer and ask Edér if he was okay. Edér would nod, unable to speak.

That's one of the things that haven't changed, over the years. It takes Edér a while to find his voice after nightmares. As if speaking would somehow bring them back. Make them real.

He sighs and closes his eyes. All he sees is Yinro staring at him with that empty look.

It feels like he's being stabbed in the chest.

He turns around, throwing an arm over–

Nothing.

He suddenly jolts awake, sitting upright in bed. All his drowsiness is gone, replaced by an endless pit of a feeling growing in his stomach.

Yinro is gone.

It's hard to think over the _no, no, no, no_ repeating in his mind, the _what if something happened,_ the _where is he where is he_ **_where is he_ ** _–_

_I can't lose Yinro too–_

He's out of the bed and on his feet before he knows it. It's not until he's at the door, a dagger already in hand, that the smell hits him; all too familiar in its fragrance, and way too spicy. He stops dead in his tracks.

It's Yinro’s cooking – he'd recognize it anywhere. He must be up cooking in the middle of the night again.

He almost collapses right there, knees buckling under the tidal wave of relief washing over him.

_He's safe. Yinro is here. Yinro is safe._

He knows he won't be able to sleep without seeing him with his own eyes, though, so he puts on a loose shirt, discards the dagger on the bedside table, and quickly descends the stairs. The floorboards creak at the same spots as always, and it's a familiarity that brings comfort. Because _he's_ here too. He’s safe. He’s _home_.

The smell is much sharper as he reaches the downstairs, and some part of Edér is grateful for it. It's easier to shake off the nightmare and old memories, and anchor himself in the _present_ with something so strong to remind him he's here, and _now_. And while it's not a surprise to find Yinro near the window, his back turned to Edér, it still brings him relief.

The light from various candles around the room casts everything in a soft, warm light, and it's already a welcome change from the darkness of the bedroom.

He remembers the first time he found Yinro at his late-night cooking habit. They were still in the Dyrwood back then – how long has it been? Twenty years? Gods, it feels like a lifetime ago. They were good times, though. Crazy, but good times. It’s hard to believe it’s been so long.

And the first time he found Yinro cooking so late at night – it’s a funny story, really. It was late Majestu – Edér remembers because it was way too hot for mid-summer; the night air too stifling and the oppressive summer heat unreasonably heavy, making it impossible to sleep. They’d found a relatively cool spot to camp, though, and by some miracle of Wael actually managed to get some rest. Edér had enjoyed a few hours of uninterrupted sleep before being woken up by… something – the details weren’t exactly memorable – and immediately spotting a hooded figure by the campfire.

In his defense, Edér had every reason to assume it was a stranger – everyone seemed to be asleep on their bedrolls, and they knew they were risking bandits when they decided to build a campfire. So, _in his defense_ , he had every reason to grab his sword, sneak up on the intruder and press the blade against their neck.

Which ended up being a huge mistake as he was disarmed in less than three seconds, and narrowly avoided being decked. The next punch to his throat, however, caught him off-guard and despite Edér managing to get out of the way in time to avoid any serious damage, it was still enough to send him doubling over, coughing and gasping for breath.

He was expecting a kick, or another punch, or the sound of a weapon being drawn; the soft gasp surprised him.

“Oh gods, I–”

Edér was vaguely aware of the figure kneeling down beside him, hand over their mouth, voice muffled.

“Edér, I’m so sorry–”

But it wasn’t until he took off his hood that Edér realized who it was, a pair of rose-colored eyes staring at him, widened in shock – and the voice finally _clicked_.

Yinro already had a hand on his shoulder, the other holding his jaw, pushing his chin up to inspect the damage. Edér opened his mouth to speak, as realization finally dawned on him, but found that he couldn’t, coughing instead.

It didn’t take him long to find his voice again, though, and when he did… the only thing he remembers about the rest of that night was that they just _talked_. They talked until it was morning, both unable to go back to sleep.

And Yinro cooked. He told stories of Rautai, of _family_ , good and bad, voice drenched in longing, and – something else. Edér hadn’t been able to put a name to it, then. But he’d traded stories of his own hometown in return. His own family – what's left of it. Not worrying, for what had felt like the first time in months.

It’s been nearly _twenty_ years, and Yinro still has the same habit. Some things don’t change, Edér supposes.

Gods. What _fools_ they were, back then. _So much lost time_ . But Edér doesn’t have any regrets – not about Yinro, anyway. Because a part of him believes things _had_ to happen the way they did. They _had_ to, so that he could be here now. Here with Yinro.

Guess some things _do_ change.

Yinro doesn't seem to have noticed him, and doesn't turn around as Edér approaches. Edér notices his ear twitch before he speaks.

“Hon, is that you?”

Edér doesn't say anything – perhaps because he knows he doesn't have to, or perhaps because he can't get himself to speak, still shaken from the nightmare.

Instead he steps closer until he's pressed against Yinro’s back, wrapping his arms around his waist. Yinro tenses in surprise at first, but quickly leans against Eder's chest, practically melting into it. Yinro’s always enjoyed physical contact, and it’s one of the things Edér loves about him, but he couldn’t be more grateful for it than he is in this moment. He pulls back a little to place a kiss against his nape, letting his lips linger there for a moment.

“Hey,” Yinro says softly. “You’re up.”

Edér can hear the smile in his voice. He presses a few more kisses, around the side of his neck, then towards his jaw. Yinro chuckles, a small and intimate sound.

“Stop it,” he laughs. “You know I’m ticklish.” Edér can’t help a wide grin as he presses a final kiss to his neck, just below his ear.

He puts his head on Yinro’s shoulder, and takes a deep breath. The smell of _Yinro_ is enough to overwhelm even the spice; warm and sharp and _familiar_ . And Yinro smells _different_ , somehow. Different than anyone else. It's hard to put into words; as impossible to describe as the feeling of the summer sun on your bare skin on a warm day, the crisp winter air setting your lungs on fire as you step outside, the cool spray of seawater on your face and the gentle, salty breeze of the ocean.

Edér can see their reflections in the window staring back at him, the soft rain washing over their faces in the window. The faint smile on Yinro’s lips, the concern etched into his features, the lines on his face. Edér has them too – a lot more than he used to, and getting more and more each year. He can see the greys in his hair, standing out against the blond curls, yet not out of place.

Next to him, Yinro’s noticed he's watching them. He gives him a small smile.

He still doesn’t have a single strand of gray hair.

For a moment he thinks he sees his expression change, going blank and empty and his stomach drops–

It's just his mind. Gods. He closes his eyes, trying to think about something else. Anything else.

He hugs Yinro tighter and finally exhales, realizing he'd been holding his breath. It comes out shaky and shallow, wand Yinro must've noticed because the muscles in his back tense before he turns around, and Edér has to let go of his waist.

Yinro doesn’t ask why. Edér knows he doesn’t have to.

“They’ve been getting worse?”

Edér figures it was supposed to sound like a question. He can tell Yinro’s trying to hide it, but his expression belies the concern in his voice.

“It's this damn weather,” he replies. Casual. Nonchalant. A joke, even.

A lie.

Yinro goes along with it. “Told you there would be a storm.”

Before he can reply, Yinro quickly slips out of his arms, an urgent look on his face like he just he remembered something, and kneels by the fire. He stirs the skillet with a fork, then brings it to his mouth, taking a bite. A thoughtful expression crosses his face, turning into a frown.

“Here, taste this.”

He doesn't look at Edér until he's standing next to him. Edér starts to reach for the fork, but Yinro brings it to his lips before he can reach, and he ends up cupping Yinro’s hand on the fork with his.

It's good. It's Yinro’s cooking. Eder's not sure if it's just because he's gotten used to it over the years, but he never thought he'd genuinely like Rauataian cuisine.

“Mm,” he hums. “Needs more salt.”

“You think everything needs more salt.”

Edér chuckles.

“What can I say, I'm a Dyrwoodan through and through.”

Yinro slowly shakes his head, smiling to himself. Then another frown crosses his face.

“I think it's missing–” Yinro stops mid-sentence. “No, that's not it.”

“Hey,” Edér puts his hand on his waist, snaking it around to settle on the small of his back, and lowers the spoon with his other. “It's good.”

Yinro looks at him, then back at the fork. He stares at it with a frown.

“If you say so,” he finally sighs. “You hungry?”  

Edér realizes, then, that he is. He's surprised he didn't notice it before.

Before he can say “yes”, Yinro’s already placed a plate on the table, and Edér can’t help a small smile. Yinro knows him too well by now.

They share a comfortable silence – the kind that comes from living with someone for long enough to recognize them by their breathing. By their footsteps. By their mere presence in the room.

And it's moments like these that really make Edér appreciate the things in his life. He never thought he could simply enjoy _being_ , when he was younger. That _living_ could be genuinely enjoyable, beyond just tolerable.

He's almost afraid to call it _happiness_.

But it's the only word that feels right. He always thought there was something wrong with him, the way he just couldn't stop being miserable. He knew something was wrong, but it was all he'd ever known. After some point it was just his life. It was just who he was.

Or so he thought.

He never even dreamed it could be so different, that it could be like _this_ . That he could _have_ this.

He knows better, now.

And it fills him with an indescribably profound feeling of _rightness_ that makes everything he's been through _worth it._ Being here with Yinro feels _right_ , more than anything else could ever hope to even come close to.

He's _almost_ afraid to call it happiness.

He’s done with his plate when Yinro speaks from behind him. It's uncharacteristically quiet – hesitant, almost.

“You know, maybe we could–”

“Yinro–”

“Just hear me out. There's an old temple in the next town, and the–”

“Yinro, stop,” he cuts him off, turning around on the chair to face him. He feels bad about it just as he finishes saying it.

Yinro takes a few steps, putting a hand on the back of his chair.

“Sorry,” he says simply. “I'm just trying to help.” He looks heartbroken, almost, but not hurt.

The guilt settles in his stomach.

“I know,” Edér sighs.

And he does – he knows it's hard for Yinro to see him like this. It's always the same around this time of the year. The anniversary of Woden’s death will always be difficult, for both of them. The closer it gets, the worse the nightmares, and… everything, really. It’s a bigger part of Edér’s life than he’d like to admit.

It gets a little easier each year, but Edér knows it's only because he's starting to get used to it. Starting to not care. It’s scary to think about.

But a part of him _wishes_ he didn't care. And that's scarier.

It's like he always thought it'd get better with time, that after enough years – however many that may be – it would get easier.

And in a way, it has. But Edér is starting to realize that in some ways, he misses him even more, how. Not _more_ , perhaps, but rather he misses him in a way he isn't used to. In a way he's not quite sure how to deal with.

Because without the constant running, fighting, and struggling, it’s different. Now that he's settled down and _content_ – it's like a glaringly obvious part of his life is missing. And it's so much easier to feel that loss now. It's one thing to wish someone was there to help you through hard times – it is entirely another to wish they were there to share the good times.

Yinro would've told him let it go – he has, several times over the years. But Edér can't let it go, let _him_ go. He knows it's his fault. He's made it about so much more than simply his death. Letting Woden go would mean letting go of a part of himself that's been with him for as long as he can remember. It keeps him whole.

He puts a hand on Yinro’s arm, trailing it to his wrist. He gently pulls it off the chair and brings it to his lips, and Yinro lets him. He watches as Edér places a kiss in his palm. It's an apology.

“Maybe you should go back to bed,” Yinro suggests. His voice is soft. There's no malice in it, no hidden feelings behind his words.

But what Edér needs is a distraction. Something to get his mind to stop spinning and spiraling and twisting. Turning on itself.

“Maybe you should take me.” He can't hide the mischief in his tone.

A quick flash of surprise passes over Yinro’s face, but quickly turns into a small smirk.

With one easy movement he's straddling Edér on the chair, hand moving to cup the side of his face.

“Let me get this right,” he starts. “I cook the dinner, I make the plans, and now I'm to take you to bed? Sounds like I'm doing all the work.” The mock offense in his tone is enough to make Edér beam at him.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, grinning. He's barely aware of his hands making their way to the outside of Yinro’s thighs. He can feel his warmth through the soft fabric.

“Yeah. It's not that easy. You gotta make a man feel special.”

“My wild charms not enough for you?”

“Your–” Yinro breaks into laughter, softly shaking his head. “Mm, once, maybe. I have higher standards now.” He's smiling.

“That so?” Yinro hums in response. “And who's responsible for that?”

“Mm, I don't know if you know him.”

“Then you should tell me about him.”

“Well,” Yinro starts. “First of all, he's really handsome.”

“Is he, now?” Edér can't help but smile.

“He is,” Yinro smiles. “He has the most beautiful hazel eyes I've ever seen, and when he's tanned,” Yinro lowers his voice, as if he's about to tell a secret. “If you look closely, you can see his freckles.” Edér leans forward to kiss just below Yinro’s chin.

“Has a gorgeous body, too,” he continues. “Really tall, has amazing legs,” he pauses, and something in his voice changes. It’s lighter, more playful. “ _Great_ ass,” he grins. “And he's got these–” Yinro makes a vague gesture with his hands, “– _arms_ . He's really strong. Like an _animal_ –”

Edér can't help but laugh, a deep and rich sound. He buries his face in Yinro’s chest. “Shut up,” he says. _You love it,_ he doesn't say.

“And sometimes he can be really stupid,” he says, moving his hand to the nape of Eder's neck. He starts mindlessly playing with his hair, curling at the ends. Edér stops laughing, then. The feel of Yinro’s fingers carding through his hair has always been comforting, and this time is no exception.

Then Yinro speaks again, and the moment is gone.

“I mean, _really_ stupid. It's kind of incredible how–”

“Oh, come on,” Edér laughs again, leaning back against the chair. Yinro just smiles.

“But he's got an honest heart,” Yinro continues. He puts both his arms around Edér’s neck. There's something else in his voice, this time. Softer. Sad, almost, in a way that's very _Yinro_.

“He's kind, and gentle, and brave.” He's looking at Edér like he's something precious, something to hold onto. No one's ever quite looked at him that way, before. Before Yinro. “He's a good man.”

They're both silent for a while, after that.

“He sounds great,” Edér says finally.  

“He is.”

“He's a lucky man.”

“That, too.”

And it's only then that Edér realizes just how close their faces are. He would need to move only an inch, and their lips would touch. He feels like he's being drawn in, almost, the way Yinro’s looking at him. But Yinro gets the same spark in his eyes every time he’s about to say something clever, and Edér recognizes it before he even speaks.

“Oh, and he _snores_ like a–”

And that's it. Before Yinro can finish his sentence, a sound escapes Eder's throat, somewhere between a chuckle and a growl, and suddenly he's standing up, hands hooked under Yinro’s thighs.

Yinro, clearly not expecting it, _giggles_ , and tightens his arms around Edér’s neck. And there's something about Yinro’s laugh; maybe it's the way his whole body shakes with it, or the way he seems to forget everything else around him, but it's contagious. Edér is laughing before he knows it.

He stumbles through the room, walking blindly in a straight line until Yinro’s back hits the wall.

“Ouch,” he says, though Edér knows he doesn't really mean it.

“Sorry,” Edér mutters, moving his hands further up under Yinro’s legs as he crosses his legs around his waist.

“Mm,” Yinro hums. “You should be more careful.”

“I was, uh, distracted,” Edér stutters as he tries to keep a straight face. “By the beautiful man in my arms.”

Yinro is laughing before he can even finish speaking, and Edér can't help but grin at him.

“Gods, just… shut up,” Yinro says smiling. “And kiss me.”

And so he does.

It's slow at first; tender and familiar and unhurried. They've been together for _years_ , but kissing Yinro still feels like the first time. It's like his whole body is on fire, heart racing and skin buzzing. He feels _alive_ , warmth spreading from his chest to his limbs, to his entire body, and soul.

And Yinro clings to Edér, pulling him towards himself like he can't get close enough, as if Edér might just slip away if he lets go.

It quickly grows into something more urgent; hungry and impatient as Edér presses _closer_ and Edér has never felt so much hatred for a couple layers of fabric. Seemingly following his line of thought, Yinro’s hand finds the hem of Edér’s shirt, tugging and pulling.

A small, breathy sound escapes him when he feels Yinro’s hand brush his hip, burning hot and rough against his skin. But it's quickly gone, and Yinro removes his other hand from Edér’s shoulder as well. And Yinro is heavier like this, but farm work is enough to still keep Edér in shape, and he has little trouble carrying him, until–

Until he realizes what Yinro is doing.  

Because _Yinro_ is in the process of trying to remove Eder's shirt. While Edér is carrying him. For which he needs both arms.

He manages to pull back, panting and wide-eyed, and mutters against Yinro’s lips.

“Yinro, stop–” Its barely audible, and even less coherent. Yinro just keeps kissing him, and every sentence gets interrupted.

“Yinro, we–” _kiss_ “I–” _kiss_ “You're goin’ to–” _kiss_ “You gotta–”

And with each kiss Edér has to remind himself why he was objecting in the first place, and resisting Yinro is harder when he can barely _think_.

Yinro finally gets the shirt over his head and they have to pull apart. While Edér is trying to speak over the fabric covering his face, Yinro is trying to pull the shirt over his head and down his arms, and–

And it doesn't come as a _surprise_ when his hand hits the back of Eder's arm, but it’s still unexpected and hits _hard_ and Edér’s grip on Yinro’s leg falters, and–

Yinro yelps, and catches himself at the last second after sliding down the wall. Edér quickly puts his shirt back on, heart leaping out of his chest.

When Yinro finally looks up at him from where he's leaning against the wall, there's only frozen surprise on his face.

Before Edér can reach out and ask if he's alright, however, Yinro slides down the rest of the way until he's sitting on the floor. And starts _laughing._ Shoulders shaking and head thrown back – it's quiet at first, just soundless puffs of breath in short bursts. But it's not long before he's gasping for air, as he was already breathless, and it turns into wheezing, howling laughter.

Edér doesn't realize he'd been laughing _with_ him until he starts gasping for breath himself.

“What–” Yinro manages between breaths, “What was _that_?”

Then he's laughing again, and Edér with him. It feels like hours have passed before he can speak again.

“I tried to warn you,” Edér says with a final chuckle, holding out his hand. Yinro takes it, pulling himself up.

“We're getting too old for this,” he says. Easy, casual, spoken without thinking.

He winces. It happens in less than a second, and Edér wonders if he imagined it.

“Hey, speak for yourself,” he replies. “I'm in top form.”

“Are you, now?” Yinro laughs, playfully slapping his belly as he walks past him, which – Edér will admit, he might not be in _peak_ physical condition, but he's still in damn good shape, if he does say so himself.

“Come on,” Yinro adds from behind him. Edér turns around to find him already walking up the stairs.

Edér doesn't miss the way Yinro’s gaze lingers on the bedside table when they reach the bedroom, expression twisting with concern as he glances at him. Edér simply shrugs.

Then his expression changes, shifting into one more closed off, and he averts his gaze.

He knows Edér keeps weapons around the house, but he looks almost guilty. As Edér makes the connection, the realization is like a slap across the face.

_Oh, no._

“Hey, it's alright,” Edér says, approaching him. “Not your fault.”

Yinro just shakes his head.

“I shouldn't have left, not when it's–”

“Stop,” Edér mutters, pressing their foreheads together. He closes his eyes. “You're here now.” He pulls back to press a kiss there. “That’s what matters.”

When he opens his eyes, Yinro is just looking at him with a fondness that makes Eder's chest ache. There's more in that look than words could ever hope to express. It's an apology, a thank you, a confession. It's intimate, and a reminder of just how much they share.

“Let's just go to sleep,” he says, turning towards the bed. “I have to be up early, anyway.”

“Oh?” Yinro asks as he makes his way to his side of the bed.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Promised a couple people from the village I'd help them with, uh,” he stops as he gets under the covers, thinking. “Honestly, it was a while ago. I think it has to do with some kind of warehouse?”

Yinro chuckles next to him, softly shaking his head.

“Then I'm gonna be helping around at the docks,” Edér continues. “It’s long day ahead.”

“Popular, are we?” he asks, turning to face Edér. If he's trying to hide his smile, he's doing a terrible job.

“Only because of you,” Edér scoffs. “I think I actually heard someone refer to me as _‘that Watcher’s husband’_ the other day.”

That earns him a chuckle.

“Glad to hear you're making a name for yourself. We’ve been living here for...” he trails off, thinking. “What's it been, five years?”

“Shut up,” Edér says, grinning.

He enjoys the work, though. They might not be running around chasing giant statues or ancient cults anymore, but they still help people whenever they can. Less fighting than they're used to, these days. But still good work. Honest. It's helped him find meaning again, and all the more with someone to share it with.

Yinro’s voice pulls him from his thoughts.

“Hey,” he starts. “You know I just want to help.”

Edér has stop himself from sighing.

“I know it's hard, but listen,” he shifts closer. Edér keeps his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

“I think this could be really good for you. You should do something different this year.”

Edér looks at him, then. Like they don’t have the same conversation every year. Like they haven’t talked about this countless times. Like he doesn’t end up doing the same things, year after year.

“You're ready to let to. You just have to believe it.” He finds Eder's hand, intertwining their fingers. “And you have to start somewhere.”

And sometimes Edér hates that Yinro knows him so well – perhaps even better than he knows himself. ( _Not that that's hard,_ Elafa’s voice rings in his mind.) And sometimes he hates that he always knows the right thing to say. And sometimes he hates that he has to admit he's right.

But mostly, he's just really grateful.

Because he honestly doesn't know what he would do without Yinro. He's been a guiding and inspiring force in his life for so long – he barely remembers who he was before he met Yinro. He's not sure he wants to.

He’s changed, he knows. _Grown_ – in so many ways. And Yinro’s role in it, in his life, in _him_ , is immeasurable. And he trusts Yinro. He trusts him with _everything_ , and more than anyone else. In some ways, even more than he trusts himself.

So he listens. He keeps his eyes on the ceiling, mindlessly running his thumb over Yinro’s knuckles, and _listens_ as Yinro tells him about the town nearby,  and the old temple in it, and a priest – and he doesn't say anything.

He only rolls on his side, back turned to Yinro, and lets him wrap his arms around him. Then he lets him press closer and tangle their legs together. And then he lets him place a soft kiss on his neck, then his shoulder.

He tries to block out everything else – the howling wind outside, the rain hitting the windows with what seems like unrelenting force, the shadows dancing on the walls. Unwanted thoughts. Memories.

And when he finally falls asleep, the steady sounds of Yinro’s breathing is all he can hear, breath warm against his neck.

He thinks he can feel his heartbeat, vibrating through his chest. Or maybe it’s just his own, ringing in his ears. He can’t tell. He figures it doesn’t really matter.

He doesn't have any more nightmares, that night.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! constructive criticism,, as always,,, is more than welcome
> 
> (also uh i have Not finished playing deadfire yet so idk what happens with eothas or the wheel or edérs ending and please no spoilers)


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